


cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon

by readergirl1013



Series: just kiss off into the air [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Soldiers, Childhood Trauma, Coping, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Memories, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readergirl1013/pseuds/readergirl1013
Summary: Seven was gone.And Two was always angry that they were missing their last number, while Three refused to talk because her rumors hadn’t worked, made up for by Four doing nothing but talking as he begged to see their sister just once more, as Five fell into his equations and obsessed over time travel so he could bring her back, and Six fell into his novels as though he could escape into one forever and find their sister hidden in the pages.One - Luther. (It’s still sometimes hard to remember he’s not One anymore). But Luther, he had just been lost. Doing what Dad had wanted was normal, but nothing was normal anymore.





	cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon

****Luther laid back on his cot, listening to the desert winds howling outside his tent, and watched the numbers on his watch slowly click up until it was midnight.

Midnight of April 12th, 2012, to be precise.

Ten years.

Ten years since he’d seen his littlest sister. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath.

Ten years since he’d come to the realization of just how horrible a man they’d been adopted by - been _bought_ by.

His world had changed that day, the foundations of his reality shifting as quickly as the desert sands outside now did.

“Hi, Vanya, I miss you,” he whispered into the dark, hoping she could somehow hear him. Klaus had never seen her ghost, not once in the ten years since her death, so he hoped she was in heaven or whatever the afterlife was.  

He still wondered what she’d have grown up to look like, to be like. Would she have still been soft and kind or would the extra years under their father’s care have hardened her like they had Diego?

Would she have still been curious and excited to learn new things or would she have lost that earnest desire to find out something new due to their father’s derision like Ben?

Would she have still have spoken with such care, careful to never hurt anyone’s feelings with too sharp a word or would she have started to use her words like weapons to protect herself against their father’s harsh attitude like Allison?

Would her love of music and the beauty of the world have remained strong even under the grinding pressure of their father or would she have crumpled under its weight becoming as cynical and biting as Five?

Would she have still been innocent and filled with the desire to see them happy or would her own misery under their father’s roof have caused her to collapse in on herself like Klaus?

He’d never know.

He’d never know what his sister would be like beyond the age of thirteen. And in hindsight, he’d never really even known her then. He’d been too consumed in being their father’s golden son and the others’ shining leader, to be a good brother.

Luther had only learned that he needed to change his priorities after his sister had committed suicide so very young.

He rocked his head back on his pillow, trying to get to sleep. He had patrol with his platoon tomorrow and he needed to be awake and alert to keep an eye out for both insurgents and IEDs.

He couldn’t sleep. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. He never slept this night, not once in the last ten years.

He’d slept through his sister’s death, despite knowing something had been off about her the days leading up to it.

He’d ignored the warning signs, the way she’d watched them wistfully but hadn’t spoken to them, how she’d become more and more withdrawn and stopped smiling. Her eyes had had dark rings beneath them that spoke of nightmares and her nails had been bitten until they bled.

She’d pulled back and away from them all. She’d stopped coming by to offer her help with his homework or training. She’d wordlessly shaken her head when Allison and Klaus invited her to do nails with them. She’d pushed the books Five and Ben had offered her away, back into their hands. She’d patted Diego’s arm when he tried to get her to bake cookies with him and Mom and continued up the stairs.

Most telling of all, though? _She hadn’t been playing her violin._

He’d ignored all the things that meant something was wrong until the others had forced him to see something was bothering Vanya, and then told them that they’d wait to talk to her the following day. It had been his decision not to go in right then and talk to her. He’d been so sure of himself, so confident in his position as leader, that he’d strong-armed the others into going along with his plan, as usual.

‘After all, what difference would it make to wait a day?’ he’d said. ‘She’ll be fine for one night and it’s almost curfew. Do you want Dad to find us up?’ he’d demanded. ‘If she is sick we ought to let her get some rest,’ he’d cajoled. ‘Let’s go to bed, talking will be better in the morning,’ he’d promised.

He’d slept through that night unaware that tomorrow would already be too late. He’d gone to sleep with six siblings and woken up with five.

He’d never forgive himself for that. He didn’t think his other siblings would either.

Luther had never again put off until tomorrow what he could do today, especially not when it involved other people.

After Vanya, he’d tried to have things go back to normal, the way Dad had wanted, but nothing was ever _normal_ again. They weren’t One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven anymore.

They were just One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six.

Seven was gone.

 _Seven_ was gone.

Seven was _gone._

And Two was always angry that they were missing their last number, while Three refused to talk because her rumors hadn’t worked, made up for by Four doing nothing but talking as he begged to see their sister just once more, as Five fell into his equations and obsessed over time travel so he could bring her back, and Six fell into his novels as though he could escape into one forever and find their sister hidden in the pages.

One - Luther. (It’s still sometimes hard to remember he’s not One anymore). But Luther, he had just been _lost_. Doing what Dad had wanted was normal, but nothing was normal anymore.

His lack of respect and trust in his father, the father he’d previously idolized and desperately tried to please, had begun when the man had so callously dismissed his daughter’s death. It had grown from a lack of trust and respect to dislike and misgivings over their father's actions when Five had hesitantly asked when the funeral would be, three days after Vanya had died, only to be told that _there wouldn’t be one._

It had solidified into revulsion and utter _loathing_ when the memorial stone that he and the others had all chipped in for and designed themselves of a beautiful girl made to look like Vanya playing a shining violin, and put up in the garden was broken and thrown away by their father. He’d lectured them all about useless sentimentality and getting over their attachment to Vanya’s memory because she was holding them back more in death than she had as an utterly useless waste of space in life.

He had hated that man from that moment on.

Luther blamed him for Vanya even more than he blamed himself because they all might have been lectured and scolded and pushed by Reginald Hargreeves, but Vanya had been torn to pieces by him every day. He’d even corrupted the rest of them into treating her like she was some hanger-on and not their sister just because she hadn’t had powers.

Hadn’t had _discernible_ powers, Luther corrected himself with a sigh. He sat up and got out of his cot. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, no point just lying there.

He agreed with Five’s theory that Vanya _had_ had powers, they just hadn’t figured out what they were. What were the chances that she hadn’t, having been born the same as they had? No, it was more likely they were just subtle - like being able to see infrared or ultraviolet or hear more frequencies and none of them realizing that she could because how could she have known it was different when it was what she’d always seen or heard.

Luther slumped against a stack of crates holding MREs and looked up at the stars above him. He’d been a horrible brother before Vanya. He’d been taught to be that way by their father, but that didn’t excuse his actions. He could only make up for them now, after, with their other siblings.

He hoped she was proud of him.

“Lieutenant Hargreeves? Everything alright, son?”

Luther looked down from where he’d been staring at the stars to see Pastor Cunningham, his battalion’s chaplain that was, looking at him with concern. Luther wasn’t really certain how to act around the older man or any of the other chaplains on base, never having been exposed to any kind of religion growing up.

He shrugged. “I’m fine, sir.”

Pastor C, as his men called him, came over to lean against the crates beside him. “Excuse me for saying so, Lieutenant,” he said after a few moments of silence, “but that’s utter horse shit.”

Luther looked over at him in surprise. He hadn’t thought priests were allowed to swear. But then, what did he know about priests.

“I know you’re not religious,” Pastor C said, “but part of a priest’s job is to counsel those in need. If you ever want, son, I’m here to listen.”

Luther shook his head. “How did you know who I am?” he asked instead. He wasn’t wearing anything with either his rank or his name on it. Just a t-shirt, his ACU pants, and his boots.

“Your men speak well of you, Lieutenant. A couple of them have described you to me, even. Not many men here who are ‘six-and-a-half foot tall, golden blond haired, all-American boys built like Adonis himself sculpted him’.”

“That had to be Taylor,” Luther muttered and shook his head. The kid wrote poetry all the time. He was pretty good, too. His reports, however, were another story with how flowery and ridiculous his descriptions of routine patrols where nothing happened were. (Luther dreaded his reports when something did happen, they were so over-the-top.)

Pastor C hummed an agreement. “Boy’s got a way with words,” he said. “Still, my offer stands. Sometimes, burdens shared can be burdens lifted.”

Luther thought about it. He’d talked about his shit homelife and his sister’s death before. Mostly with his siblings, but also during the eight weeks he’d seen a psychologist on Allison’s recommendation.

“My little sister committed suicide ten years ago today,” he said quietly. “She was thirteen.”

Pastor C sucked in his breath, then slowly let it out. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said after a long pause. And: “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Luther was glad he hadn’t said anything religious about heaven or a better place. People had said that before, and when they did he always wanted to punch them. Because the best place Vanya could have been was right there with them.

“What’s her name?” Pastor C asked after a long pause.

“Vanya.”

“Do you want to tell me about her?”

And suddenly, inexplicably, Luther did. “She played the most beautiful music,” he began, “and our childhood was always accompanied with the soundtrack of her violin. I can still hear it whenever I think of her.”

He spoke until he was hoarse and the sun was peeking over the eastern skies. He told Pastor C about Vanya, and how beautiful and strong she’d been. How awful their father was and how he had never done anything to stop him. How bad of a brother he’d been, that he tried to be better now but it was already too late. He spoke of his regrets and his fears and how he hated himself for waiting to talk to her until it was too late.

He spoke until, for the first time in ten years, he broke down crying.

Pastor C listened to it all. He offered no judgments, no trite consolations. He just listened until Luther had no words left in him and he sank to the ground, feeling washed out and wasted away. And then he’d sat down beside him.

They sat there and watched the pre-dawn skies turn from black to blue to gray over the Iraqi desert in silence. The time allowed Luther to scrub his face off and get himself together a bit.

Finally, just before the others would all be getting up and ready for the day, Pastor C said. “Nothing is going to bring your sister back, Lieutenant, and I’m more sorry for that than words can express. Your love for her is obvious. I have no doubt she loved - _loves_ \- you just as much. I think you’ve long stopped blaming her for leaving you, now… now you just need to stop blaming yourself for losing her. It wasn’t your fault, son. Her death isn’t your fault.”

Luther wanted to shout and yell and lash out at the man. Of course it was his fault! He was Number One, it was his job to look after his siblings, to make sure they were okay! It was his job to take care of them! He’d failed! He’d failed so badly his most vulnerable, gentlest, kindest sibling had _killed herself_!

Pastor C kept speaking before he could though. “It’s not your fault, son. And I don’t think the sister you’ve told me about would want you blaming yourself for her choice. Do you really think that sweet little girl with a love of music, that big-hearted girl who tried to nurse a baby bird back to health, that gentle girl who loved you and hated seeing you hurt would want you to keep flaying yourself open because of her death?”

Luther sucked in a breath, feeling as though he’d just been punched in the gut.

Pastor C put a hand on his shoulder. “Luther, do you really think Vanya would want you to still be hurting like this and feeling so guilty you’re punishing yourself?”

No, no she wouldn’t. He couldn’t say the words though, so he merely shook his head.

“You need to learn how to forgive yourself, son. Your sister made her own choice. Was it a good one? No, I don’t think it was. But I think she felt, at that time, it was her only choice. She wouldn’t blame you for her choice, Luther, you shouldn’t blame yourself or feel guilty for her choices.”

“I don’t know how not to,” he finally said. He’d always been the one in charge of his siblings, their leader. For as long as he could remember he’d been lauded for their successes and blamed for their failures. He was Number One.

“We’ll work on it,” Pastor C said. He looked at his watch. “For now, though, I’m going to go speak with the Colonel about getting another platoon to patrol today, you’re in no fit state to be leading a girl scout troop selling cookies let alone a bunch of soldiers through enemy territory, and he’ll listen to me. We’ll meet sometime soon to talk again, alright?”

Luther’s throat felt tight and he stared resolutely at the ground. “Yes, I… please.”

Pastor C nodded and laid a hand lightly on Luther’s head, tilting his head back to look at him gently. “That’s what I’m here for, Lieutenant. And, well, it may not mean much to you but I’ll be including Vanya in my prayers from here on out.” He smiled gently. “She deserves to be remembered by more than just you and your siblings.”

He walked away and Luther let himself curl into a miserable ball. He didn’t cry again as he contemplated, for the first time in ten years, not blaming himself for failing Vanya. He didn’t think he could. But he was willing to try to do so with Pastor C’s help.

The wind picked up and the shifting sands and rustling tents around him suddenly sounded strangely like a violin. Luther hoped that meant Vanya approved.

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel will be posted when complete.


End file.
